


boys (don’t) cry

by applejwoos (kenmarcadeblues)



Series: married to the music [3]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Member Death, Inspired by Music, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Toxic Masculinity, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, soft...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmarcadeblues/pseuds/applejwoos
Summary: “i tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes” - boys don’t cry by the cureHe doesn’t deserve a roommate like Hongjoong. Maybe no one does.(first posted on ateez amino)
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi
Series: married to the music [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1121622
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	boys (don’t) cry

Hongjoong takes a deep breath and makes up his mind. He cannot and will not ignore the elephant in the room any longer. “Mingi, are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Of course, yeah.”

“You sure?” Hongjoong presses. “Because, to me, you’ve kinda seemed off...a bit.”

It started on Monday, when their cafe study session was interrupted by Mingi’s mom calling. The younger man put his cell phone up to his ear with a smile as he walked outside, not wanting to disturb the peaceful environment with his loud voice. Hongjoong watched the smile drop and color drain from his friend’s face through a window, and soon after (the call hadn’t lasted long, oddly), Mingi sat back down in his chair and dove back into studying with a passion that was...not Mingi-like in the least. 

For the last five days, Mingi has not seemed Mingi-like to Hongjoong. He stays in their apartment a lot, throws himself into studying whenever he can, and if he does go out, he doesn’t leave messy-but-cute sticky notes on Hongjoong’s whiteboard the way he used to. 

And sometimes—like right now, for instance—Hongjoong uses the desk while Mingi lays on his bunk and stares into space...and when 30 minutes pass and Hongjoong needs a break, he finds the brunet is still boring imaginary holes into the bedroom wall. 

“What?” Mingi sounds incredulous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his eyes betray him. They’re uncomfortably shiny.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong pleads. 

“My dad died, okay? He was battling lung cancer, and the old bastard finally got what was coming to him.” Mingi laughs then, but the noise is not happy at all; to Hongjoong, it is more akin to choking. “He smoked all his adult life. Even inside our house—even after I got diagnosed with asthma.” 

Hongjoong feels his whole stomach drop. “Oh, wow—I’m so sorry. Really, I am,” he says in shock. It’s all the more jarring because Mingi hardly talked about his family. He sits down near the end of Mingi’s bed, careful to avoid crushing toes. 

“Thanks, but don’t be. I’m good,” Mingi says with a shrug. Hongjoong must not hide his confusion well because only seconds pass before Mingi is huffing at him, “Why are you looking at me like that? Expect me to sob about it?” He lets out another choked chuckle. “Boys don’t cry.”

“Oh, but they do,” Hongjoong sighs, a melancholic smile on his lips. “Crying is just crying. Everyone cries, Mingi.”

“No,” Mingi spits, voice strained, “I don’t.”

“Well, you could, if you wanted,” Hongjoong says gently. He’s being patient but also refusing to back down. The only thing worse than toxic masculinity, he thinks, is hearing it from someone you care about. But he needs to stay focused on the big picture right now. “Look, um—I won’t pretend that I know how it is, because I don’t. But I’m here, and I can just listen. If you want.”

For a few minutes, silence reigns over the room while Mingi mulls over the offer.

The 20 year old runs a hand through his coffee-colored hair and shuts his burning eyes; the many thoughts crossing his mind are dizzying. 

Finally: “I don’t miss him,” he feels himself say. It sounds like his voice, and it’s coming from his own chest, but he somehow has the vague sensation of being someone else—who, exactly, he can’t say. “I don’t, but...he encouraged me to pursue music, you know. He said, ‘Why not try to get into the music department at a school? What would be so bad about it, if you love it so much?’ He did; he said that to me. He’s the reason I was able to come here and meet you.” 

When he opens his eyes, Hongjoong is smiling, small but his teeth still show and it is bright and lovely, like the moon. 

It pulls at Mingi’s tides until a wave swells inside of him. His body lurches and when the wave crashes, his tears run wild and salty. He can barely see through their onslaught, but he can feel that Hongjoong has crawled and squeezed his way up beside him on the mattress. 

“Can I hug you?” Hongjoong asks. Mingi’s lips are wobbling too much for words, so he nods. Hongjoong takes Mingi in his arms, patting his back and allowing his roommate to rest his head near his neck. It’s a little awkward because of Mingi’s size, and yet they settle like that. 

“H-He told me,” Mingi continues against Hongjoong’s skin, “that boys don’t cry, so after a certain age, I didn’t. Must've been around seven or eight. And he told me that boys don’t like boys in that way, but I know I do—I like one of the baristas at the cafe and sometimes, um”—he pauses to wipe at his runny nose—“when I look at you, you’re so b-beautiful that I can’t breathe. And, like, I just don’t know. How the hell am I supposed to feel? If I did miss him...would that make me crazy? God, if he saw me like this, he’d…he’d…” Mingi’s voice is the smallest that Hongjoong has ever heard it.

“You’re allowed to miss your dad, despite the bad he did by you. You’re not crazy for that. He played a huge role in your life; he raised you. I promise that you’re allowed to miss him, and you’re allowed to cry. And, damn it, you’re allowed to be the person you are, Song Mingi!” There’s fire in Hongjoong’s chest, but his eyes seem to be set on trying to extinguish it. 

Mingi isn’t exactly sure how much time has passed when he peels himself off of the wet spot he made on Hongjoong and wipes his damp face. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly as he eyes Hongjoong’s mess of a shirt. 

Hongjoong sniffles. “It’s fine. Your face looks worse, you know,” he teases. 

A laugh bubbles out of Mingi; even though he’s teetering on the edge of a headache, it’s the lightest he’s felt all week. He doesn’t deserve a roommate like Hongjoong. Maybe no one does. 

Suddenly, the older man is brushing the strands of hair plastered to his forehead back where they belong and Mingi’s heartbeat is in his ears. “And—so, like—am I allowed to like you?” comes his rushed whisper. 

Hongjoong’s painted nails caress Mingi’s reddened cheek. “Of course you are,” he says, and this time, his moon-smile calms the last of the wicked tides which reside inside of Mingi.


End file.
